


Puppet

by freetheelves2



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-20
Updated: 2006-02-20
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freetheelves2/pseuds/freetheelves2
Summary: 14-year-old girls shouldn't trust creepy older men when no one else is around to protect them.





	

_Selective Memory Charms_ … Barty mused. _This could be interesting_ … setting the book of Advanced Dark Charms aside, he stood from his seat before changing his mind once more and sitting back down, quickly scribbling down a note on a piece of parchment before rolling it up and sending it out into the wind along with his owl.

He loved Hogsmeade weekends such as this one. He was almost alone in the school on them, or at least, as close as it might get in any instance. This was because he liked his privacy, for one thing, since he held in his fair share of secrets. And for this reason, he liked locked doors even more. 

  


***

  


She rapped on the large, locked wooden door five times, note in hand. 

_Knock, knock, knock_.

She heard the distinctive _click_ of the door being unlocked and it creaked open as it might have in any Muggle horror movie. The note quickly scribbled to her and sent by own had been most vague. It was unusual for teachers to contact students on Hogsmeade weekends, specifically over the Winter Holidays, on account that most everyone who wasn’t a first or second year was out. Unless they somehow knew she was in today and would therefore be able to come in on such short notice, which was, she had to admit, a vaguely creepy concept. But then again, she wouldn’t put it past Moody any day. 

“Professor?” she called out to the empty classroom after letting the door slip closed behind her. 

“Ms. Granger.” He was standing atop the platform leading down into the classroom. With a flick of his wrist, she could hear the door lock itself behind her. She shivered involuntarily, and shakily took a seat in the back of the room. Everyone knew Moody was crazy, and Hermione couldn’t help herself from admitting that it was eerie how easily he might kill her with such few people in the school at this time… just the two of them in the room…

Suddenly his tongue dated out of his mouth, flickering like that of a snake in an almost arousing fashion. _Almost_. 

“Ms. Granger, how much do you know about selective memory charms?” he asked, finally descending down the steps until he was standing the same level as her, yet still at a safe enough distance.

“They are just like regular memory charms, sir, with the exception that they are only directed at a specific memory the caster wishes to erase.”

The tongue again. 

“Very good Ms. Granger.”

She could see tiny beads of perspiration building up on his forehead, and he was visibly shaking; worse from minute to minute she was watching him. 

“Pro… Professor?” she stuttered, starting to get slightly worried by now. This couldn’t possibly be normal, even for someone so absurd like Mad-Eye Moody. 

Suddenly he spun around, scarred, marred hands gripping tightly onto the desk behind him. Hermione’s eyes grew wide. He was shaking madly by now; he even seemed to be _shrinking_ in size! Taller, thinner, she could see his false leg clatter as it fell to the floor and a new one grew where it had just been. By now his fingers were gripping the sides of the desk so tightly it made his knuckles turn blatantly white; the imperfection in his skin were quickly smoothed over, and suddenly she heard a sickening sort of _plop_ noise, and there was Moody’s mechanical eye on the floor, still twitching and spinning madly. Moody let out a howl of pain as he began clawing and grabbing at his face from what she could see from where she was seated, gazing on in apparent horror. He was growing hair, longish, mussy sort of soft brown hair in place of the streaky mane he had worn before, and when he finally turned to face her, head momentarily thrown back in obvious agony, Hermione screamed and promptly fainted. 

  


***

  


When she came to, softly blinking, her eyes were met with soft light-blue ones, little flecks of gold seeming to spread out form the dilated pupil. She let her gaze travel about her observer’s face. He was really very handsome from what her eyes could gather. Overall very thin features, and the slightest hint of stubble protruding form his chin. Usually Hermione shied away from facial hair, but on him, it only served to make him seem more handsome. He had soft brown hair, almost beating Harry in how messy it seemed. 

Had he saved her? Had he saved her when Moody had begun to… to… well, she wasn’t really sure what exactly _had_ happened; to him or to her.

Things seemed excessively muddled to her momentarily. She had… she had… been called to Moody’s classroom… it was a Hogsmeade weekend… and… he really was excessively handsome…

“Did I… pass out? My head…”

“Yes, you hit your head pretty severely. It’s all right. I gave you a potion to help your situation.”

She could still take the proof of his words in her mouth. _Bitter_ , her head registered. _Somewhat salty_. 

“Where…? Who…?” Finally her head took it upon itself to look around, taking in her surroundings. It was dark all around, but she could make out a window or two to her left somewhere. Underneath her she could feel the cold ground floor as she sat up halfway, leaning against the wall behind her as best she could, her head swimming. His strong hands were supporting her somewhat as well. 

“Don’t worry about that now.”

She had been about to listen to him, feeling far too groggy to act otherwise, when something happened. _Flick. Flick_. His tongue darted out suddenly, sparking her head to start reeling with thoughts. 

“You… no… what…”

She was desperately trying to put one and one together, her brain firing rapidly, but they just didn’t come together. All she knew was that he meant trouble. 

“No…” scrambling away, her head feeling excessively heavy, she pulled herself to her feet, almost losing her balance and finally having to depend on the walls for support.

The thought suddenly striking her in fleeting horror, she realized she was standing in a corner now, with him only a few feet away. 

_Flick, flick_. There it was again. 

“You’re… you’re…”

“Disguised as Alastor Moody. That’s right.Have you…” he drawled, making shivers run down her spine, “had lunch?”

She meekly nodded. The nature of the innocent question struck her as a bit odd. 

“Well, sweetie, you’re about to become dessert.” Her eyes had grown wide in realization, and she struggled to swallow the lump of bile rising up and building in her throat as she took a shaky, unsteady breath. 

“You see…” he continued, now slowly caressing his upper lip with his tongue, “all men have needs… I only allow myself to reveal my true form every once in a while, on special days like this one, when I know people will leave me alone.” He paused momentarily, his gaze shifting as if he was trying to organize all of his thoughts. “Let me tell you something Hermione. All dreams are fulfillments of wishes. And today, you are lucky enough to be art of my dream.”

She balked at the sound of him using her give name to address her. The world felt hazy and dream-like all around, bus he knew and dreaded that fact that this wasn’t the case at all. This was a nightmare turned reality. 

“Take off your clothes.” The command come out sounding harsh, not an ounce of kindles or pity evident in his voice. She only whimpered in response, too mortified to even dare move at all. Her limbs wanted to function; to run away, but it seemed that that wasn’t an ability they would be granted this one time. 

“Take off your clothes _now_ , or I’ll do it myself!”

“No,” she whispered, “ _please_ …”

“Ungh!” came his strangled cry, ahs he harshly forced to her to turn her shaking body around, pressing her further into the corner face-first. His hands were everywhere for a moment, and then they took hold and ripped apart her blouse in the front, buttons flying everywhere. He had roughly pushed her bra down, and his fingers were playing with her nipples so roughly as if he were attempting to mark them as his own, kneading her breasts in a frantic fury from behind. She had never before felt so utterly exposed. 

He was moaning and groaning as his long fingers snaked all across her torso, his erection pressing into the back of her thigh. 

Hermione couldn’t suppress a sob from escaping her throat, and his hands suddenly wandered lower, slipping beneath her waistband and under both the material of her skirt and white cotton panties. 

“So innocent,” he growled into her ear from behind, causing her to whimper just as his long index finger slipped beneath her folds and into her core. “You’re not wet. Come on puppet, get wet for me. Do it, or this will only be all the more painful for you, and we don’t want that now, do we. 

She only whimpered again in response. She really wanted to be wet for him – anything just to make this end as soon as possible.

“So what is it that’ll do it for you, huh?” The finger probed deeper. “Do you want me to whisper dirty things into your virgin ears until they bleed? Do you want me to chain you up, or make it painful for you, not even bothering about this at all and just take you, hard and fast? Or do you want me to try and pretend to be that buggering boy-who-would-not-die, Harry Potter?”

She choked out another sob. He had hit a soft spot.

“I know you like him, Hermione. I can see the way you look at him; imagining his cock ramming into your tight little virgin pussy. Can’t you see he’s obviously gay? Have you even seen the way he looks at that pretty boy, Cedric? Oh yes, Hermione—“

His finger was moving in and out rapidly, causing her to involuntarily shudder and leak fluid onto her thighs with every time he hit her g-spot.

“Oh _yes_. You’re getting wet now puppet. Thinking of Potter really works for you, doesn’t it? So that’s your kink. Or is it just the thought of him with Cedric, touching each other, tongues exploring areas you wouldn’t even dare dream of in such context; sweat and other bodily fluids intermingling, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Just think of it.”

“No…” she pleaded with him, her voice small, “please stop…”

He laughed evilly. “Oh, but puppet, I’ve just begun!”

With that said, he hiked her skirt up over her waist, tearing down her panties, and, after forcing her to bed over, rammed into her. 

Searing pain shot through her entire body, but he didn’t give her even a moment to adjust, simply driving rhythmically in and out of her, gripping onto her shoulders, her breasts; too rough, too fast, too much—

And she wept.

She wept not only for herself and her pain, but also for Harry; Harry who would be so disappointed in her for being so utterly _weak_. She couldn’t even suppress the sounds she was making. 

She thought of Harry.

 _Weak. Weak, weak, weak_. 

She moaned. 

“You’re going to come for me puppet. Come on – come for me.”

His finger fumbled as it tried to find her clitoris, and when it finally did, she couldn’t even help herself. Everything went black; from somewhere far off she could vaguely sense him coming in her from behind, and when he pulled out, she collapsed on the floor, aching all over. 

A shattered doll. 

  


***

  


He watched her fall, a morbid grin spread wide across his thin, pale face. 

He had broken his pretty little puppet, such a pity to have tainted something so pure. 

_Play nicely_ , his father had always told him. 

Another grin. 

He never had done a good job of listening to his father. A real shame for her.

But it was time to get back to work again. Swiftly he cleaned himself off, and, in a moment of startling friendliness, did the same for her.

He was far too nice for his own good sometimes. 

She was passed out, so this would be no problem.

“ _Eligo obliviate_!”

She would have no recollection of the event when she would find herself waking up in her own dormitory bed within a couple of hours, save for the wonderful pain between her legs that would probably remain for quite a few days.

Oh, the beauty of it all. 


End file.
